


Flights of Fancy

by Noelleian



Series: Turning the Tables [3]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Language, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Mild Kink, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Endless Waltz, Restraints, Rimming, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 12:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noelleian/pseuds/Noelleian
Summary: Domestic life doesn't always make for a perfect night of spontaneity, but perhaps spontaneity is overrated anyway.





	Flights of Fancy

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, pardners. Yes, I'm still alive. For better, or for worse lol.
> 
> This is the third installment of my Turning the Tables series, but just like the previous two, it's a oneshot that stands on its own. It's been awhile since I've written some real smut so if you missed that...here you go. My lovely readers deserve it because you guys are amazing! <3
> 
> **And yes, I will be updating some WIP's very soon. That's a promise.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Love ya.

Quatre was exceptionally skilled in the art of persuasion, a true master at getting what he wanted. Trowa was pretty sure the blond could convince Millardo Peacecraft to shave his head bald and tattoo the word ‘pleb’ on his forehead if he ever felt so inclined. Luckily for those around him, Quatre didn't have one cruel, or malicious bone in his body. He never used his gift for nefarious purposes, never took advantage of anyone, or forced people to do things against their will.

Trowa shuddered to think what would have happened if someone like Treize Khushrenada, or Dekim Barton had possessed a gift like Quatre’s. The war they’d sacrificed so much to end might have had a much different outcome. The world they now lived in might have resembled more of a desolate dystopia with violent warlords calling the shots rather than a peace-driven democracy.

But on a personal note, he was mostly impressed by Quatre’s ability to connect with him on a much deeper level than most human beings were capable of. It didn’t matter how far away one of them was, the other always knew where to find him. They could feel each other’s fear, pain, and joy. They instinctively knew when the other was in danger, when they were needed. How much of that came from himself and how much came from the sheer power of Quatre’s gift encompassing them both, Trowa didn’t know. And it didn’t really matter anyway.

When it came to the more intimate aspects of their relationship, Quatre’s ability didn’t waver. In fact, it seemed stronger in some ways. He knew how to make Trowa’s blood sizzle like bacon in a frying pan with nothing more than a glance, a smile, a whisper of fingertips across goose-pimpled skin. Even hours later, the touches felt as though they were branded into his flesh. Carved into his bones, much the same way the blond’s side of the bed remained warm long after he left for work.

Coy was the name of Quatre’s game. Treacherous and irresistible was that angelic face, coupled with a very deliberate flick of his wrist to reveal the sensuous curve of his thigh, or the delectable protrusion of a hip bone.

It drove Trowa up the wall in the most maddening ways, like a pirate treated to the sight of a dainty ankle after spending months at sea.

He couldn’t exactly remember when the shy blond - who used to blush like a virgin bride on her wedding night at the mere mention of sex - began to transform into a sultry, confident minx with no hang ups about indulging in the pleasures of the flesh. The change was so gradual, yet oddly instantaneous and it left Trowa hopelessly confused as to when the poles had shifted.

Not that he was complaining.

Oh, no. Not at all. He _loved_ this Quatre. This Quatre who knew exactly how alluring he was and wielded that power with the same flawless precision as he had Sandrock’s heat shotels. Six years into their relationship, the blond knew Trowa’s weaknesses like the back of his hand and he never hesitated to go straight for the jugular.

He loved the thrill of the chase, of pushing Trowa to the edge of sanity until he was provoked enough to spring into action. He took great pride in stripping Trowa down to his basest instincts until he was little more than a wild animal driven by the primal need to bugger the shit out of anything that moved.

But even with the slender blond pinned beneath his weight and fucked into a stupor, Trowa was under no illusion that he possessed any semblance of control. Though it was never spoken aloud, they were both keenly aware that Quatre held the reigns. Always.

As Duo once so eloquently put it, Trowa was more whipped than freshly churned butter at the county fair.

And that was just peachy as far as Trowa was concerned because love and respect were the foundations of their relationship. Built upon trust from the very beginning, it didn't matter what else you threw on top of it.

After all, an automobile - whether covered in sugar, or shit - was still an automobile.

“Oh! Trowa, you surprised me.”

He stopped abruptly in the bedroom doorway, mouth watering as his eyes took in the piquant sight of pale skin turned gold in the late afternoon sun and filtered by the slats of the window blinds.

Quatre was kneeling on the plush, red love seat in the room’s sitting area with his tighty-whities pulled down to his thighs. He stared at Trowa over a slightly bony shoulder, his turquoise eyes glittering like gems in the fading light. The color reminded Trowa of a tropical paradise. Warm water, warmer sand, the hot sun, and tiny fuchsia umbrellas topping Piña Coladas, served in hollowed-out coconuts.

He dropped his gaze lower, committing the smooth, sensual slope of the blond’s back to memory. It was like following the end of a rainbow to find the pot of gold.

And cha-ching, bada-bing, was it Trowa's lucky day. The tapered cinch of Quatre’s waist flared out slightly into lusciously curved hips, framing an ass that only God himself could have shaped with his own loving hands. He closed his teeth around his tongue, summoning every ounce of self control he possessed to keep from sprinting across the room to sink them into a deliciously plump buttock.

The game was just getting started and it was crucial not to jump the gun. There was a reason humans were persistence predators. It was all about pacing and technique.

“I did, huh?”

Quatre gave him a slow blink and a barely perceptible dip of his chin. “I was just changing.”

“Into what?”

“I was…going to slip into something a little more comfortable.”

“I see,” he mused in a deceitfully placid tone and stepped inside. He turned to close the door behind him and made sure Quatre could clearly see him click the lock into place.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His eyes smouldered green fire as he approached. His gait was slow and deliberate, reminiscent of his beloved big cats on the prowl. “Thought you might need a hand.”

Quatre turned his nose up and sniffed like an affronted governess who’d just heard some very unladylike language. “No, thank you. I’m quite alright.”

Trowa reached the loveseat and his arm shot out quicker than lightning, seizing the blond’s throat in a harsh grip. He heard the gasp and pressed his face just behind Quatre’s ear, voice dropping to a menacing snarl. “You speak like you have a choice in the matter.”

Quatre put up a token struggle, enough to convince a clueless outsider that his resistance was genuine, but not beyond the boundaries he and Trowa had previously set for these games. Trowa knew when to back off, when his aggression became too much. But right now, the arousal that coursed through Quatre’s body told him he was nailing his role perfectly.

Speaking of nailing...

“Let me go, you scoundrel! _Pervert!”_

He wrapped his arm around Quatre’s waist and pulled the blond flush against his chest, keeping his other hand tight around his throat. “I think the lady doth protest too much,” he rasped into his prisoner's ear, grinning when he felt the body in his arms shiver. “Have you never been taken before?”

“No.”

“No? A pretty thing like you? I find that hard to believe.”

“I don’t much care what you believe. I do not partake in the sins of the flesh.”

He snickered a little, unintentionally breaking character, but he quickly regained his composure when Quatre’s pointy elbow jabbed his rib cage. “Sin schmin. We’re all sinners here, sweetheart,” he purred, sliding his hand down the young man's quivering belly to fondle his erection and relished the sharp intake of breath.

“Please…”

“Please, what?”

“I - I don’t… _ah, sh_ \- I don’t know what I’m asking for.”

“That’s alright, kitten. I know what you’re asking for…”

There was a forceful shove against Quatre’s back, followed by an undignified yelp and a harsh cough as the blond’s chest collided hard with the arm of the love seat. Trowa winced and bent down, rubbing his hand soothingly over his lover’s breastbone. “Are you okay, baby? Sorry, I didn’t mean to push you down that hard.”

“It’s -” another cough “- I’m fine. You just kno - knocked the wind out of me.”

“I’ll give you a minute to catch your breath. I’m so sorry, Quat.” God, he felt like a big, dumb brute. _Way to go, Tro. Maybe you can break his leg next._

Sensing his guilt, Quatre reached back and patted his hip. “I’m fine, baby, don’t worry. I’m not made of glass, you know.”

For some reason, that statement shifted his attention down to the small, circular scar on the lower left side of Quatre’s back. The stab wound had long since healed, but not before leaving its permanent mark on his body. Quatre may not have been made of glass, but it was an unsettling reminder to Trowa that life was indeed fragile and could be snuffed out in the blink of an eye.

How many times had both of them nearly died on the battlefield? If nothing else, it seemed Gundam pilots had the Devil’s luck. Somehow managing to escape Death’s clutches at every turn despite the odds that were rarely, if ever, in their favor.

“Baby? You alright?”

He shook away the memories and suppressed a shiver as he rubbed his thumb over the scar. “Yeah. I know you’re not made of glass, but…”

Quatre squirmed until he was able to turn around. He cupped his hands around Trowa’s face - that beautiful, but hauntingly sad face he’d fallen in love with the moment he’d laid eyes on it - and pressed their foreheads together. “You forget. I know exactly what you’re feeling.”

He shook his head. “I haven’t forgotten. I was just remembering when that happened. How I knew you were in trouble when I had no reason to know. I don't know how, or why, but I’ve always been able to feel you no matter how far apart we are. I heard you cry...even when I couldn’t remember your name, or mine. I heard you even though you were in space and I was on earth. I could feel how much you were hurting, how much you needed me.” He looked down at Quatre’s abdomen where the sword’s entry point left a nearly identical scar. The blade had gone right through him, quick and clean.

“I remember plucking you out of the air. You had already lost consciousness. I remember removing your helmet and holding the smelling salt under your nose, silently begging you to come back to me.”

“And your first, truly intimate touch,” Quatre whispered with a gentle smile. “Your fingers inside me, inside my wound to apply the blood clotting agent. It hurt so bad.”

“And then again in the hangar,” Trowa reminded him. “After the hits Sandrock took at the end of the battle, your blood vessels ruptured from the force of the impacts. I had to pinch the artery shut until the doctors could take over and stop the bleeding.”

“If I wasn’t already in love with you by then, that would have sealed the deal. I was so out of it. So out of it, but I felt your fear and my last lucid thought before waking up from surgery was, 'I cannot die. I have to survive. For _him._ '"

Tears stung the backs of Trowa's eyes and he swept the blond into his arms, kissing him long and hard until they were both breathless and dizzy. “I thought I was going to lose you,” he whispered mournfully. “And this is going to sound weird, but it was Wufei who eased my fears. He was my rock during those terrifying hours when I had no idea if the surgeon would emerge and tell me you were going to make it, or that you were gone.”

Quatre lifted his head up, surprised. “Really?”

He nodded and tucked an unruly lock of hair behind Quatre’s ear. “In his unique way, of course. He came over and sat down beside me. He was quiet for a while and my mind had sort of drifted off so I was startled when I heard him say, 'He’ll be fine, Barton.' I asked him how he could know that and he gave me that look. You know the one -”

“The one that says you’re the thickest person he’s ever met? Yeah, I know which one you’re talking about. I’ve been the recipient of that look once, or twice.”

Trowa laughed. “So have I. But...instead of answering my question, he said and I quote, 'Wild horses couldn’t drag him away from you, much less Death. Winner's tougher than nails and he’s a fighter. He’s stronger than all of us, even me. There’s no way I could have held the five of us together. None of us could, but he did it. I still don’t know how. Maybe I’ll ask him one day.' For some reason, that comforted me. Wufei's brand of tough love always has.”

Quatre blushed and for a moment, he looked uncannily like his sixteen year old self after he’d taken a bold risk and kissed Trowa’s cheek for the first time. Of course, he’d apologized profusely afterwards, mumbling awkward sentiments of remorse while his face radiated enough heat to power a generator. As long as he didn’t think too hard about it, he was as confident as they came. The problem was his tendency for self-doubt which was always misplaced. “He speaks too highly of me.”

“He was only voicing what the four of us were already thinking, Quat. We never would have won if you hadn’t brought us together. You were right all along. From the very beginning. Working as a team is always better than working alone. As a unit, we became unstoppable.”

“It was just a matter of getting past your pride,” Quatre said with a laugh. “The four of you were too proud to admit you weren’t invincible and I was too stubborn to stop trying to get you to admit it. That’s all it was.”

“I’m pretty sure there was more to it than that.”

“I can be very, _very_ persuasive.”

“Now _that_ I can’t deny.”

“Speaking of which…” Quatre’s voice took on a lighter, flippant tone, almost sing-song which meant the topic was about to shift into more visceral territory. He arched his back, brushing his bare chest against Trowa’s clothed one, effectively redirecting his lover’s attention to the primary objective. “I believe you said you knew what I was asking for?”

He caught up without missing a beat. “Mmm-hmm. Would you like me to tell you, or show you?”

Quatre lounged back against the arm of the love seat and casually parted his legs. “Thought I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

Trowa’s lips curled over his teeth, looking like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood when his unsuspecting prey ventured a little too close. He lowered his gaze to admire the tiny naval, down to the neatly trimmed blond hair at the base of an engorged cock wrapped in silky skin and glistening at the tip. Saliva collected inside his mouth, increasing along with his need to suck on that hot, rigid flesh.

He wanted to take it deep into his throat until he couldn’t breathe. Until his spit leaked from the corners of his lips and dripped down his neck. Until he felt the pulse of Quatre’s orgasm dancing across his tongue as it traveled from his tightened balls, along his length, and spurted from the tip in thick, white ropes.

He wanted to roll those soft, delicate balls over his tongue and suckle on them until he felt Quatre’s thighs tremble with desperate need.

Most of all, he wanted to bury his face into that dark, tempting crevice until his ears were treated to the melodious sound of Quatre’s whimpers and moans, the breathless declarations of love and pleasure that Trowa so loved to hear. Quatre would shiver and roll his hips into the sensation, his cries increasing in pitch and frequency as he crept closer and closer to an earth-shattering climax. His fingers would curl tightly in Trowa’s hair to prevent him from pulling away when he reached that crucial moment, just a hair’s breadth before the point of no return.

Trowa’s eyes would sting and water from the harsh pulling of his hair, but these were the times he felt the most at peace with the world. When Quatre’s vocalizations faded into silence and time was suspended indefinitely. Another press of Trowa’s tongue, and another, and another, and then the blond’s legs would lock around his shoulders and his back would arch like a bowstring pulled taut. A split second later, the scales would tip and then he would thrash and shout himself hoarse while his cock painted his belly white with release.

Trowa would lick him through it until he went limp, shaking and spent. Other than fucking, that was when Quatre always came the hardest, often without stimulation to his cock which never failed to spike Trowa’s arousal to unbearable levels.

“Indeed you do not, pet,” he rumbled, trailing a finger over Quatre’s collarbone and down towards his left nipple where he pinched it hard enough to make his captive jump and utter a squeak.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Whatever I want,” he whispered, bending down until his nose was only an inch above Quatre’s. “But I can promise you this: You are going to _love_ every second of it.” He closed the distance and caught the blond’s lips between his own, aggressive and dominant in all their favorite ways.

Quatre whimpered into the kiss, his protests dissolving on his tongue like the sugar cubes he sweetened his tea with. Nothing got his heart pumping quicker than being kissed. It was the perfect remedy to soothe his ire after a long, trying day. It melted the tension in his muscles and pinged the part of his brain that was hard-wired for sex.

Unfortunately, Trowa knew this all too well and often used his superior kissing skills to worm his way out of an argument, or soften his lover's resolve enough to get something he wanted. Wasn’t it only two months ago that he’d managed to convince Quatre to let him bid in an auction for a historic Civil War cannon by buttering him up with a home cooked meal, a box of cordial cherries, and a toe-curling kiss which inevitably led to three consecutive rounds of intense fucking?

Not that Quatre was opposed to owning such a relic, but he would prefer it didn’t clash with his postmodern living room decor. It also didn’t help that he could see the cannon’s barrel from the corner of his eye pointed right at his head while he was trying to unwind and binge watch the latest season of _Days of Our Lives_. He just hoped there weren’t any vengeful spirits still attached to it because he wasn’t too thrilled by the thought of being decapitated by a phantom cannonball.

Trowa’s mouth descended towards his throat, all steamy breath, wet kisses, and soft growls. He was intent on claiming his conquest and Quatre tipped his head back in sweet surrender, losing himself to the gentle suction against his rapidly-fluttering pulse. His cock throbbed, desperate for attention and he lifted his hips to rub it against the erection still confined in Trowa’s jeans, hissing from the abrasive scratch of denim on his sensitive flesh.

There was something unbelievably hot about being naked while his lover remained fully clothed. The feeling of being exposed and vulnerable made his skin tingle and his heart race. His opening twitched, aching for deep, rough penetration and he snaked his hand between his thighs to press a fingertip inside the whorled entrance.

“Hey.” Trowa suddenly shot up and stared down between them where his finger was buried to the second knuckle. In an instant, the world upended as he was lifted and flipped over onto his front with his head hanging over the arm of the love seat. He cried out in shock when strong hands clamped around his wrists and pressed them into the small of his back.

A moment later, Trowa’s mouth was flush to his ear with a growled, “I did not tell you that you could touch yourself, did I?”

He panted and shook his head to clear away the disorientation. “Uh...no?”

Trowa leaned back again and squeezed his fingers around the slender wrists for emphasis “Don’t move. Keep those hands exactly where they are. Understand?”

He nodded and remained still, though it was difficult to keep his arms wrenched behind his back while trying to balance on his knees. He felt like he was going to tip over the side of the couch and land on his head and he hoped that whatever Trowa had in mind, he would be quick about it.

He heard the jingle of a belt buckle behind him and his heart skipped a beat. Okay, this was a new development. He yelped in surprise when the leather cracked against his left buttock and nearly toppled over, but Trowa righted him just in time. “Fuck, you look so hot like this, pet. Such a sweet little ass you have. I can't wait to feel my dick inside it.”

Quatre held his breath and braced for another strike of the belt, but it never came. Instead, it slid beneath his wrists and looped through his arms, then it was yanked tight and tied into a knot. There was no give. Not even an inch of slack in which to move his limbs. He could feel the edges of the belt cutting into his skin and the pull in his muscles from the strain of his position, but the slight discomfort did nothing to subdue his arousal. Quite the opposite actually.

He remained quiet, using his ears to gauge what was happening behind him. He heard the sound of a zipper, followed by muffled fumbling and then the hard length of Trowa’s cock was brushing against his inner thigh. When the man's hips made contact with his backside, Quatre could feel the scratch of denim and wondered if Trowa would keep his clothes on while they fucked.

_This is making me so fucking horny, it’s embarrassing._

“You want this, don’t you, pet? Hmm? You can’t wait to get this dick inside you, can you?”

Quatre dropped his head and bleated in resigned affirmation, fully embracing his role as the reluctant, but helplessly wanton virgin about to be plundered by a tall, dark stranger whether he wanted it, or not.

“That’s what I thought. I knew you were hot for this from the moment I laid eyes on you. You just needed a real man to give it to you.”

A loud snort echoed off the walls, followed by burst of laughter. Now, it was Trowa’s turn to admonish and his preferred method of discipline was a stinging slap to his captive's pale ass cheek.

“I’m sorry. Sorry, it’s…’You just needed a _real man_ to give it to you,’” Quatre imitated in a mock deep voice and then cackled with his face pressed upside down into the side of the love seat.

Trowa huffed and folded his arms impatiently. “Are you finished?”

“Oh, fuck,” he wheezed. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m done.” Another peal of laughter, another smack to his upturned ass. “ _Ahaha!_ Shit, I’m sorry. Okay, okay, I’m done. I’m done now, sorry.”

Trowa decided a little revenge was in order and scooted back on his knees until there was room to bend down, the position aligning his mouth perfectly with his pet’s tender opening. Quatre’s mirth instantly vanished when he felt Trowa’s hot breath ghosting over his most coveted place and he froze from the sudden rush of anticipation, not wanting to do anything to make his captor change his mind.

Trowa grinned smugly and hesitated only for a second, just vindictive enough to get one last retort in while he had the chance. “We’ll see who’s laughing in the end, kitten.”

Not giving Quatre the opportunity to retaliate, he pushed forward and immediately went to work, mouthing sloppy kisses over the blond’s entrance. He suckled gently on the rim and poked his tongue inside, his pet's scent and taste driving his senses wild.

Quatre quickly became a prisoner of his own desires, succumbing to the wicked pleasure with heady moans and sweet submission. This was when he was his most beautiful. Free from the demands of the world outside. A creature of unprecedented emotion and raw need, existing for the sole purpose of experiencing ecstasy. No stress, no obligations. Just himself and his love and how good they made each other feel. This was where he let everything go. No worries, no fears, no responsibilities.

No inhibitions.

It was the most beautiful thing Trowa had ever seen and he felt blessed to be a part of it. To be an active participant in his own little miracle. To be the one who invoked these responses. To have the privilege of causing those sublime cries and whimpers. To be the one to lift Quatre high enough to touch the sky and to be the one who was there to catch him when he returned to earth.

He laved over the blond’s hole, swiping his tongue across it and then dipping it inside to sample the velvety heat. He used Quatre’s soft cries to guide his movements, though occasionally his mouth trailed lower to give the succulent balls dangling beneath some much-deserved attention. He sucked one, then the other into his mouth, and pressed his tongue up between them before ducking his head to nibble and kiss the throbbing cock that bobbed slightly between his captive's creamy thighs.

But before long, the hunger for Quatre's opening took precedence and he returned with a vengeance, eating him out as though he would starve without it. Quatre was close already and he nuzzled deeper between the smooth cheeks, intent on taking him apart now and then later while impaled on his cock.

Quatre’s voice shifted, becoming shaky and reedy until it bordered on shrill. His legs trembled uncontrollably, on the verge of giving out. He just needed a little more to drive him over the edge. Trowa shoved his tongue inside and rumbled in his throat. The vibration traveled from his mouth to his pet's hole and that was the catalyst that sent Quatre tumbling forward into white hot bliss.

He garbled and keened, his hips rolling and undulating as his cock spurted its release onto the sofa cushion beneath him. Trowa kept up the rigorous swipes and prods of his tongue, not letting up until Quatre’s body slumped in a debauched sprawl of flushed, sweaty skin and quivering limbs. He gave the twitching opening one last lingering kiss before pulling away to admire the sight of his captive while wrecked and sated.

This was his favorite time to fuck. When Quatre was languid from orgasm and his opening was wet and loose, ripe for the taking. He reached beneath the blond’s body and gingerly turned him over onto his back. Quatre’s eyes were closed and his lips were swollen and parted, soft exhalations still escaping between them. In this state, he was pliant, allowing his body to be maneuvered into any position Trowa wanted.

“I need to get some lube, babe.”

Quatre cracked open one eye. “Under the cushions,” he slurred dazedly.

He chuckled and stuck his hand beneath the cushions, digging around for the small bottle of lubricant. “Are you ever not prepared for anything?”

“Nope.”

Lubricant located, he gripped Quatre’s thighs and lifted them up, hooking his arms beneath his knees. He draped one leg over the back of the love seat and the other over his shoulder. He popped the cap of the lube open and squeezed out a dollop big enough to cover his erection. He knew from experience that prep was not necessary during times like this. Best to skip the previews and move on to the feature presentation.

Tossing the bottle aside, he spread the gel evenly over his cock. The sensitive nerve endings came to life after being neglected and he hissed his pleasure through his teeth, coating himself quick and clumsy in his desperation to plunder Quatre's depths.

He braced one hand on the arm of the sofa behind the blond’s head and used the other to hold his throbbing erection steady as he pressed the head against Quatre’s opening. The precome beaded at the tip helped ease the entry and the other man's body yielded to the intrusion, opening itself to welcome the intimately familiar shape of Trowa inside.

It was like coming home after a long, tiresome journey. Trowa’s eyes rolled beneath fluttering lashes and his throat vibrated with a guttural moan as Quatre’s body took in every inch of him without hesitation, or resistance. His lover’s soft breaths and needy whimpers struck the corresponding chord in his heart and they melded together in body, mind, and spirit. Consummating their immortal bond with the joining of mortal flesh.

“Mmm, Trowa...fuck me.”

The barely audible plea went right to his cock which pulsed angrily, demanding friction. So much for role play, though perhaps this time, it just wasn’t meant to be. “I got you, baby,” he promised, pulling his hips back in one, slow movement. After a brief pause, he pushed forward again, repeating the motions until he worked himself up to a steady pace. He held back the urge to fuck in hard and fast. He would get to that, but for now, he wanted to savor the way Quatre’s body sucked him back in and rippled over his length, sending delicious jolts of electricity through his cock and up his spinal cord.

The fiery red and orange rays of the setting sun painted Quatre’s damp skin in shimmery shades of amber and gold, illuminating the arching line of his throat, torso, and the tip of his cock. Trowa’s hands itched to touch and who was he to deny them? He scraped his palms over his lover’s smooth chest and belly, dug his fingers into hips and buttocks, and greedily clutched every inch of flesh he could reach.

With each thrust of his hips, the pleasure spiked in relentless waves and spurred him to move faster, fuck harder. He curled his arm beneath Quatre’s knee and leaned down, rocking the blond’s body across the love seat with obscene slaps of flesh hitting flesh. With his chest only a few inches above Quatre's, it changed the angle of penetration, allowing the tip of his cock to press repeatedly against his lover's prostate on nearly every stroke.

The result was instantaneous. Quatre garbled out a cry and a string of Arabic curses as his hips rolled against Trowa’s. His cock twitched and clear fluid dribbled from the tip, now only minutes away from climax. 

Trowa knew exactly what to do to unravel the last tenuous strings of his control. “That feel good, baby? My cock feel good inside you?”

_“Nnnnhhhhhh…”_

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Ya Ibn el Sharmouta! _Fuck!_ Trowa...ah, Jesus. Your cock feels so fucking good. Mmm, I love the way you fill me up...fucking me so good.”

Ready to pop himself thanks to Quatre’s delirious confession, he dropped down and crushed the smaller body beneath him. He thrust in deeper and Quatre mewled in response, frantically rubbing his cock against Trowa’s belly. “Tro - _ah!_ Trowa, m’gonna come.”

Trowa nipped at his neck and then soothed the bite marks with soft kisses and gentle swipes of his tongue. He’d reached the point where stopping for any reason was no longer possible and he drove in deep and hard, craving the agonizing squeeze of Quatre’s inner muscles around his cock. “Gonna fuck it right out of you. I love it when you come on my dick. So hot...so hot...so sexy, my beautiful Quat.”

“Oh - oh god! I’m gonna c - I’m gonna - oh fuck, I’m coming...I’m coming…”

Quatre’s back bowed sharply, body locking up tight. There was a moment of silence, of stillness and then Trowa felt the first painful clench of the blond’s opening. A beat later, the first pulse of hot come splattered across his belly. Quatre sucked in a lungful of air and released it in one long moan that seemed to reach out and curl itself around Trowa’s straining erection. There was so much relief, so much rapture in that moan and that was all it took to blindly follow his love down into the dark abyss.

_There is no place you can go where I will not be right there beside you. I will follow you to the ends of the Earth. I will ride the Reaper’s coattails should he come to claim you first. I will never, ever let you go..._

Awareness returned slowly, but once he was lucid again, he found himself sprawled on top of Quatre, drooling all over his neck with his limbs splayed in all directions. He felt wrung out, but supremely satisfied. Pleasantly drowsy as he came down from the high with his head pillowed on Quatre’s chest. He was in danger of falling asleep and the gentle fingers stroking through his hair, combined with his love’s soft humming were not helping matters.

He struggled to pry his eyelids open. For some reason, they seemed glued shut. “What’s that song? I’ve heard you sing it before.”

“It’s an altahwida. An old Syrian lullaby my nanny used to sing to me when I couldn’t sleep.”

“What’s it called?”

“ _Yall Tnam_. It literally means ‘sleep’,” Quatre told him with a chuckle.

“Mmm, that's nice. Sing it again. I love your voice.”

Quatre pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and then leaned his cheek against it, once again crooning the simple, but sweetly childish lyrics. Trowa let his eyes drift closed, feeling warm, safe, and content. The lullaby sung in the blond's beautiful voice was like a salve. Like sinking into a hot, lavender scented tub at the end of a stressful day.

 

… _Yall tnam.........yalla tnam_

_Ladbahla tayrel hamam_

_Ruh ya hamam la tehaddi_

_Lakzeb 'a Trowa tatnam..._

 

_...Sleep.........sleep_

_To offer him a pigeon_

_Go, O pigeon, don't stop,_

_I am fibbing to Trowa so he'll go to sleep…_

 

Trowa grinned and buried his face against Quatre's clavicle. “That’s a nice touch. Adding my name.”

“That’s what you do with this lullaby. The original name is Rima, but mothers - or nannies in my case - will replace it with their children’s names.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Lullabies usually are,” Quatre mused, attempting to stretch though he was hindered by Trowa’s body and his still bound arms. “Think you can untie me now? I can’t feel my hands anymore.”

“Hmmm...I dunno. I quite like you like this. All helpless, at my mercy.” He mouthed kisses down Quatre’s chest and abdomen, murmuring as he went. “Maybe I’ll just keep you tied to the bed so I can have my way with you whenever I want. I'll make you my sex slave.”

Quatre snorted and shook his head. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m going to have to pass. Dinner’s not going to cook itself, you know.”

Trowa pouted up at him. “It would, but you keep refusing to hire a personal chef.”

He groaned and dropped his head back down onto the cushions. “Baby, I grew up constantly surrounded by people. Maids, chefs, nannies, tutors, my father’s advisers, acquaintances, and business partners, my umpteen sisters. My father had even more siblings than I do and there was always at least a handful of them hanging around at any given time. I’m surprised I was able to take a piss without some busybody standing over my shoulder. Though I always made sure to lock the door because I wouldn’t put anything past my family.”

He stared up at Trowa with eyes that begged him to understand. “I know it would probably make things easier, but I just - this is our home and I’ve chosen to make a life with you and you alone. I don’t want strangers coming in here, messing around in our kitchen, touching our things, meddling in our personal affairs. I didn’t grow up inside a home, Trowa. I grew up inside a commercial entity where I was forced to be something I wasn’t.”

He closed his eyes let out a bitter laugh. “Christ, no wonder I was suffering from an identity crisis at the age of thirteen. I had no idea who I was because I was never allowed to _be_ who I was.”

Trowa’s heart panged with sympathy, feeling awful about upsetting him after such a wonderful evening. Sliding his arms beneath the blond’s back, he lifted him until he was sitting in an upright position and fumbled with the belt that bound his hands. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to bring back those memories.” He got the knot loose and pulled the belt free. “I won’t bring it up again. I promise.”

Quatre flexed his arms, working the blood back into them. When he wrapped them around Trowa’s shoulders, they still felt a little heavy and weak. “Please don’t feel bad. I’m not upset, okay? Really, all that stuff is behind me now and I’ve come to terms with it, thanks in part to you. And no, you didn’t ruin the evening. You haven’t ruined anything, okay?”

Trowa brushed his thumb over a porcelain cheekbone and then traced the sharp cupid’s bow of Quatre's lips. “I love you so much, Quat. I don’t ever want to be the cause of your pain.”

He smiled. “Impossible. Unless you decide to dump me for some other blond twink.”

Trowa pulled him into his arms and held him tight. “Now _that’s_ impossible. Never gonna happen.”

“You bet your sweet ass it won’t. I forbid it.”

“That is one order I am more than happy to follow and I will voluntarily submit to any punishment you deem fit should I ever stray.”

Quatre laughed and flicked his nipple. “You’re a kinky bastard, you know that?”

“You’re just now figuring that out?”

“No,” he chuckled, swinging his legs over the side of the love seat. He swiped his discarded underwear off the floor and shook them out before sliding his feet through the leg holes. “I just like to remind you once in a while.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Touché.” He stood and pulled the briefs up, cruelly depriving Trowa’s eyes of his delectable bubble butt. “What do you want for supper?”

“You.”

Quatre gave him a cheeky grin over his shoulder. “I thought I was the appetizer.”

“You’re the appetizer, the main course, the side salad, and the dessert.”

“Am I the nightcap, too?”

“Duh.”

He laughed as he slipped a pair of sweatpants on. “Why don’t we settle for veal parmesan.”

“Only if I can bugger your brains out on top of the dinner table afterwards.”

“Jesus, do you ever get tired?”

“Of fucking you? No, never.”

Quatre threw his hands up as he headed towards the door. “I’ve created a monster.”

Trowa quickly stuffed his cock back into his jeans and hurried to catch up to his lover. “So how would you punish me anyway?”

“For starters? How about a nice cold ice bath for your junk?”

“Ooh, I like where this is going.”

“You would.”

 

_End._

**Author's Note:**

> Ya Ibn el sharmouta! - Son of a bitch!
> 
> Thanks again for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed it. ^^


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